


home is when i'm alone with you

by tamquams



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Ronan-Compliant Language, Sharing Clothes, adam pov, very very mild angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23149999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamquams/pseuds/tamquams
Summary: “What’s so funny?” Ronan grumbled, his back still to Adam.“Nothin’,” Adam drawled, finally standing and walking to his boyfriend. He stood just behind him, leaned his forehead against the nape of Ronan’s neck. “Just, this shirt’s a little small on you, don’t ya think?”Kinda-sorta a companion piece tomakes me feel a little bit closer to you. Ronan wears Adam's shirt and Adam likes it. Fluff and banter ensue.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 20
Kudos: 266





	home is when i'm alone with you

**Author's Note:**

> howdy! this is kinda-sorta a companion piece to [makes me feel a little bit closer to you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23079358) but you don't really have to read that first! @philosophersandfools was interested in a sequel so here you go! i hope you enjoy!

Adam was truly, madly, deeply _fucked_.

That was nothing new; it might have taken him a while to realize that he liked Ronan, but once it had occurred to him, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. It had been on his mind for months, and then Ronan had kissed him, and Adam had kissed him back, and long story short, they were finally dating. Adam could hardly believe it — Ronan was magic, Ronan was light, Ronan was _love_ , and he chose _Adam Parrish?_ Nobody chose Adam, not when there was another option. Nobody except Ronan.

So, yes. Adam was fucked. But that was okay, because so was Ronan. And yet. And, yet. And yet Ronan could not possibly feel as absolutely and wretchedly _fucked_ as Adam did in that moment. In fact, never in the history of the world had somebody felt as absolutely and entirely _fucked_ as Adam Parrish.

Because Adam had just gotten to the Barns after a late shift at Boyd’s, still wearing his grease-stained coveralls, to find Ronan in the kitchen _wearing Adam’s shirt._ He was cooking something, even though it was past midnight, and he was wearing nothing but boxers and _Adam’s fucking shirt_ , and he didn’t even seem to realize.

It was oddly amusing, the way that he was so nonchalantly wearing Adam’s clothing. Actually, it was hilarious, because it could not _be_ more obvious that it wasn’t his shirt — the hem was too high, the sleeves too short, the fabric too snug across his chest — and it also happened to be Adam’s signature fucking shirt, the shirt that Blue’s aunt had nicknamed him after: the Coca Cola shirt. Too raggedy to belong to Ronan, too threadbare, too small. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense.

“Parrish,” rasped Ronan from where he stood by the stove. He gave Adam an apprehensive look, and it was only then that Adam realized he was still halfway through the door, one foot over the threshold and one on the back step as he regarded his boyfriend. Blinking, he stepped fully inside and closed the door behind him, blocking out the cold night air. He gave Ronan half a smile.

“Lynch,” said Adam, slumping into a chair at the kitchen table to untie his work boots. “What are you doing? It’s past midnight.”

“Thought you might want something to eat after work,” Ronan murmured sleepily, stirring something in a pan in front of him. “Don’t even bother telling me that you ate already.”

Adam sighed. He wouldn’t lie to Ronan. Instead, he said, “You sound like you just woke up.”

“What time do you work tomorrow?” Ronan asked abruptly. He was not smooth; Adam knew that he would not respond to Adam’s comment because he didn’t want to tell the truth and he surely wouldn’t lie. “Are you staying tonight?”

“‘Course I’m staying tonight,” said Adam as he finally toed off his shoes. He walked to the door and sat the boots beside it, then unzipped his coveralls to tie the sleeves around his waist. The white shirt underneath was soiled by dirt and sweat and grease, but he left it on as he sat back down at the table. “And I’m off tomorrow.”

The grin Ronan flashed him was somehow both sleepy and electric. “All day?”

“All day,” confirmed Adam, staring at Ronan’s back. The Coca Cola shirt was so worn that the general shape and outline of Ronan’s tattoo could be seen through the fabric, and his muscles pulled at the shirt in a hopeless attempt to escape. Adam wanted to touch him. He wanted to slip his hands underneath the shirt; he wanted to take the shirt off of Ronan altogether.

He gripped the edge of the table and leaned his head forward against its cool surface.

“Parrish?” Ronan asked after a moment, his voice entirely too soft. “You okay over there?”

Adam groaned against the table, his breath condensating on the wood for a second. “I’m great,” he said weakly.

Ronan snorted. “Yeah, you look great,” he said, his voice colored by both amusement and concern at the same time. How he managed to convey two entirely different emotions at the same time, Adam would never know. “Did something happen at work?” The words were hasty, like he didn’t quite want to say it but needed to anyway — like ripping off a band-aid. 

“What? Oh. No, no,” said Adam, lifting his head and shaking it. “No, nothing’s wrong.” A look of relief flitted across the half of Ronan’s face that Adam could see, and it occurred to Adam that Ronan thought the question might start a fight. The thought made him sad. “Nothing’s wrong. I just…”

Ronan raised an eyebrow, but there was no malice on his face, just poorly-masked apprehension and worry. “You just what?” He turned the stove off and removed the pan from the burner. 

“I just missed you,” Adam said simply. He felt his cheeks burn, and when Ronan turned to look at him, his face was dusted with a matching blush. Adam wanted nothing more than to get up and brush his lips across the pink jut of Ronan’s cheekbones, but didn’t let himself. This thing was still new, it was still fragile, and he didn’t want to break it. He might have already crossed the line with his words, might’ve just scared Ronan off —

“I missed you too,” said Ronan in a very quiet, un-Ronan-like voice. He sprinkled something onto the food in the pan. “Dumbass.”

Adam couldn’t help but smile. Being around Ronan was like that; always smiling and laughing about things that normally wouldn’t coax a quirked lip from him. He supposed it had less to do with what Ronan was actually doing or saying, and more the fact that it was _Ronan_ , beautiful Ronan, heavenly Ronan, wondrous Ronan. He imagined saying those words out loud. _Gay,_ Ronan would say. Adam chuckled just at the thought of it.

“What’s so funny?” Ronan grumbled, his back still to Adam.

“Nothin’,” Adam drawled, finally standing and walking to his boyfriend. He stood just behind him, leaned his forehead against the nape of Ronan’s neck. “Just, this shirt’s a little small on you, don’t ya think?”

Ronan looked down and immediately froze. “Well,” he said under his breath. Adam couldn’t see the look on his face, but by the way that Ronan’s entire body tensed, Adam could tell he was nervous. He pressed a light kiss to the back of his boyfriend’s neck, then smiled against the warm skin.

“Looks good, though,” Adam murmured.

Ronan relaxed. “Gay,” he muttered.

Adam dropped his forehead heavily against him. “I hate you,” he groaned.

Without even looking, he could tell that Ronan was grinning sharply. “No you don’t,” he said, his voice smug. “You _like_ me. Like, _like-like_ me.”

Adam shook his head, his nose brushing over the collar of Ronan’s — _Adam’s_ — t-shirt. “Nope. I don’t even regular-like you. Barely even tolerate you.” His arms wrapped loosely around Ronan’s middle.

Ronan huffed indignantly. “Is that right?” He dropped the wooden spoon he was holding into the pan. “‘Cause you’ve got a weird fuckin’ way of showing it.”

Adam hummed against him. “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

Ronan turned around slowly, staying in the easy circle of Adam’s arms. “Do you remember a few months ago when you accidentally wore my hoodie?” he asked, leaning his head forward into the crook of Adam’s neck.

Adam didn’t even blink at the non-sequitur. “Yeah,” he admitted, looping his arms just a bit tighter to rub circles on the small of Ronan’s back. “Except,” he pressed his face against the side of Ronan’s head, the short, coarse hair rubbing uncomfortably against his jaw, “it wasn’t really an accident.”

Ronan jolted backwards to look up at Adam and Adam just leaned forward to switch their positions, his forehead resting at the junction of Ronan’s neck and shoulder. “What did you just say?” Ronan asked, scratching his fingers lightly along Adam’s back. “What was that, Parrish?”

“You heard me,” Adam groaned against Ronan’s clavicle. He bit the outline of the bone, reveling in the hiss of breath Ronan let out. “I mean, it was an accident that you saw it, but I put it on on purpose.” His fingers slid underneath the hem of the Coca Cola shirt and ghosted over Ronan’s hip bones.

“Well,” said Ronan, pulling Adam just a bit closer, “that’s gay, Parrish.”

Adam bit his collarbone again, harder. “Nah,” he said, leaning fully against Ronan’s chest, “it’s _bisexual_.” Ronan snorted, raising one hand to slide his fingers through Adam’s hair. “But why bring it up?”

Ronan hummed lightly. “I was just gonna say that I liked it. Seeing you in my clothes.” He shifted slightly, backing up until he was leaning against the counter and Adam was effectively boxing him in. “D’you like it?”

Adam lifted his head with a troublesome grin. “Yeah, I like it,” he said, his teeth glinting. He leaned forward, letting his lips ghost over the soft spot between Ronan’s jaw and his ear. “But do you know what I like better?”

Ronan slotted a thigh between Adam’s, returning his sharklike smile. “What’s that?”

Adam felt Ronan shudder as he slid his teeth against the spot. “ _Dinner._ ” And then he was backing up, too quickly for Ronan to pull him back, and reaching up to open the cabinet that housed plates and other dishes.

Still leaning heavily against the counter, Ronan leveled Adam with the most resentful glare he could muster. “You’re such a dick,” he grumbled, crossing his arms irritably. “And a tease.”

Adam laughed, unabashed and carefree, and he saw the exact moment when Ronan’s faux-sullenness softened, then crumbled completely, giving way to exasperated fondness. “ _You’re_ the one who made food,” Adam pointed out, sliding two plates along the counter toward the pan Ronan was stirring once again. “I would have been happy to come home and fool around on an empty stomach.”

They both froze when they realized what Adam had said. _Home_. He had referred to the Barns as _home_. He felt his palms fill with sweat in a second, his heart rate speed up, and his brain do cartwheels trying to figure out how to casually back-pedal before it was too late. That was too much, that was too strong, he had taken it too far and now this thing with Ronan was going to —

“Say that again,” Ronan breathed, his hands gripping the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles were bone-white.

Adam hated how small his voice was when he said, “What?”

Ronan turned his face toward Adam’s, eyes pleading. “Say it again.”

“Say what again?”

“Parrish,” Ronan whispered, his jaw twitching. “Please.”

Adam swallowed audibly. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and then rubbed a sweaty hand against the back of his head. “ _Home,_ ” he said softly.

Ronan was bearing down on him in a heartbeat, gentle hands on his waist contradicting the bite of teeth against Adam’s lower lip. Adam felt himself being pushed gently against a wall, his hands scrambling to find purchase on the tight fabric at Ronan’s shoulders, and Ronan was kissing him and whispering _home, home, home_ against his lips.

It was only seconds before Ronan was pulling away again, chest heaving and face pink. “I like it when you say that,” he said, as if it hadn’t been obvious. “A lot. I like it a lot.”

Adam leaned his head back, knocking it against the wall, while maintaining eye contact with his boyfriend. “Yeah?” he panted.

“Yeah.” Ronan’s smile was a luminous thing, still sharp and Ronan-like but also bright and feral and fucking effervescent, and Adam had to smile back. Ronan took a step backwards, still looking at Adam, and put his hand against the handle of the pan of food, still sitting where they had abandoned it on the counter. “Now eat your fucking food before it gets cold, dumbass.”

God. Adam was _so_ fucked.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, i hope you liked it! as always, you're more than welcome to come interact with me on tumblr, i'm @wespers! p.s. title is from home by edward sharpe and the magnetic zeroes :)


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